Just before their departure the American minister had requested Rob Hinckley, who, still disguised as a Chinese, might traverse the streets without detection as a foreigner, to proceed to the Methodist Mission, nearly a mile away, and warn its inmates to make ready for a speedy retreat to the legation grounds. Jo also was asked to go out and make special note of what the people of the city were saying.
So the two lads set forth, going by way of Instruct the People Street, called by foreigners Legation Street, past the Hôtel de Pékin, in which the Lorimers were staying, and where Rob wished he might make a call. From there they held their way eastward to Ha-ta (Great) Street, which they found thronged with citizens and soldiery. They walked slowly up this broad avenue, paying close attention to scraps of conversation, until they came to Filial Piety Alley, into which they should have turned to gain the mission compound by the shortest route.
Instead of so doing, they hesitated, attracted by a decided and excited movement towards the north of the swarming populace. Involuntarily, they joined it, and continued to make their way slowly up Ha-ta Street, until they had nearly reached the Pai-lou, or wooden arch, that spanned the middle of the roadway, just below Tsung Pu Alley. At this point they saw two sedan-chairs, preceded by an outrider in the livery of the German Legation, come from the Street of Permanent Peace into Ha-ta Street, and turn north ahead of them. As they halted in their walk and stood watching this little procession, Jo was saying:
"In case of serious trouble, Rob, I believe I could do more good outside in the city than if I were to stay shut up in a legation. There, also, I should always be an object of more or less suspicion, on account of being a Chinese. Of course, I sha'n't leave you unless it seems best to do so; but if we are separated, don't forget the old academy call."
"Do you mean the 'Hi-ho' call?"
"Yes; and isn't it queer that it should be the same as the first two names of the I-Ho-Chuan?"
At that instant the sharp report of a rifle rang out a short distance up the street. For a moment it was followed by a deathlike hush. Then pandemonium broke loose. Other shots were fired in quick succession, and the street populace, transformed into a howling mob, swarmed towards the scene of tragedy, yelling like demons: "Kill the foreign devils! Kill! Kill! Kill!"
A horseman fled before them. Two sedan-chairs were dropped by their terrified bearers, who also took to their heels. From one of the chairs a man leaped and ran for his life, but from the other came neither sound nor motion. In it sat Baron von Ketteler, the Kaiser's representative in China, shot to death by a Chinese officer of imperial troops. To-day a magnificent memorial arch of marble spans the busy roadway above the spot where he was killed.
"Come!" gasped Rob, as he realized the awful nature of the tragedy. "That shot is China's declaration of war against the world. We must warn the mission!"
With this our lads darted into the near-by Tsung Pu Alley. At first their progress was impeded by people running in the opposite direction; but in a couple of minutes these had been left behind, and they were free to hasten on at full speed. All at once a foreigner, hatless, haggard, and bleeding, dropped from a low compound wall into the alley close beside them. Behind him sounded the fierce cries of a pursuing mob.